


Our Gentle Sins

by sansalannistark



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-08 20:59:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8861857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansalannistark/pseuds/sansalannistark
Summary: The Kingslayer struggles with his idenity amongst a relationship he never expected.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A strange little late night ramble of an angsty Jaime/Sansa with a little bit of my idea of a Jaime-Identity crisis surrounding the Kingslayer title. 
> 
> (P.S apology for the lack of new content on my account, I've had exams but I'm working on a longer fic which I'll finish before I publish it here, should be ready soon :)
> 
> Please leave your LOVELY reviews. They are very much appreciated and make my day :)

Every beating that Joffrey inflicted, every harsh word, every cruel smirk: he saw her face.

It cut him that he had done nothing. Every day, a little bit of her soul still believed that her brother was coming for her but deep down they’d both known that he wasn’t. And slowly she’d been running out of time and he’d done _nothing._

He had never cared for the Stark girl. His family and hers were sworn enemies and he’d once murdered her father’s men and fought and attacked her father yet he’d found himself feeling oddly protective of the girl. He liked her because she was like him – not just in her shattered dreams of Knights and Maidens but in her fierce inside, that slowly inside she’d been fighting back – she hadn’t given in. Not ever.

Both of them used to go away inside, after he’d seen her take a particularly bad beating and saw her biting back the tears so harshly that her wolf fangs had let blood slip from her lip. He couldn’t stop himself from approaching her. As he’d gripped her arm he saw her defiance flash like steel and in her eyes, turmoil and fear.

“Lady Stark... if ever you cannot... if you feel the pain so badly you cannot withstand it, it’s best to do what I do my lady.” He had whispered. “Go away inside.” He’d turned and left and not stayed to talk or to hear her response or see her face. But every time since then, every time Joffrey had slapped, punched, whipped and beaten her, he’d seen her eyes mist: not with tears but distance, as she faded out and away.

He could relate more than he had ever thought possible.

\---------------

He never thought she’d be as dishonourable as him though – yes, her Stark nature meant she _seemed_ honest. When he’d been tasked with taking her back to her rooms after Joffrey had beaten her in the throne room she had walked out with such dignity and grace that you’d never guess the wolf had been breaking inside.

It had shocked him when she’d collapsed in her rooms as he was about to leave – she had almost had him convinced that she was mending. Pure instinct had him rushing to catch her and for similarity in situation alone, he held her.

He’d held her body in his arms. He’d never wanted to do any harm.

He heard her anger, pure and simple. Her hate for her brother

She told how much she hated Robb Stark, for not coming for her, for leaving her to be hurt this way. In tears, she told him how she hated Joffrey and how much she wanted to kill him, so many times but she couldn’t because she had to stay alive. Even though she hated her brother, she had to stay alive. “We fight with honour – I will not make the same mistakes my father did.” She had said. “I will survive – quietly.”

He’d been shocked at her outburst after all the effort of concealing her emotions but he knew how angry and hurt people became when they were pushed too far and he hadn’t said a word as she poured out her heart to him. He’d seen her pause for a moment, considering whether he was going to tell Cersei and have her arrested or killed but perhaps because she seemed to trust him or because, even more sadly, she wasn’t scared of death, she stayed in his arms.

To talk about her feelings that way had made him realise what a wolf she was and that the same emotions that surged in his veins ran in hers – that at times she hated her family and her king, just as he had – _and did._

“Why are you doing this Sansa?” She had looked at him quizzically. “Why are you letting me in?”

Her voice had been so sad, so broken he remembered. _But not gone._ “You’re the only one who doesn’t hurt me. I think perhaps a part of you cares... somewhere. You’re not like them. There _is_ good in you.” She had whispered, as she looked up at him.

_She’s desperate._ He couldn’t help feeling so unhappy about her situation – not so unlike the Queen Elia’s all those years ago when she’d married Aerys.

\--------------

He’d begun to arrange her escape. Perhaps it was the only thing he could have done, without defying the mad boy who was king and getting both their heads on spikes but now he wishes that he’d defied the King, even if he’d died. _Anything could be better than this._

Only then Robb had arrived. He’d seen Sansa alive – her eyes lighting up behind the walls she built, if only for a short time. The way she spoke was hopeful. Until Joffrey realised that Robb was strong – stronger than he ever would be and he knew if he lost, he’d lose everything – the young wolf had allies and many. No one left to side with the Lannisters.

He knew if Stark won, he’d die, but he had nothing left. Not even his sister anymore. If he could see Sansa happy, to know she’d be safe and to hope that perhaps in _her_ mind he won’t always be an oathbreaker. _If she remembers only one good thing about me it is enough._ And then he can die satisfied.

That’s when it all went wrong. Jaime should _never_ have underestimated Joffrey.

_The day when Robb marched towards King’s Landing and sent a raven to the King, demanding his sister; Jaime hurried on with his plan, oblivious. It was only when his squire ran up to him in horror that he knew._

_“My lord, the King... it’s Lady Sansa.”_

_Jaime doesn’t even consider how his squire knows or what the boy has heard about him and Sansa. Or if he knows about those shared kisses, those brief intimate moments they had so carefully controlled. Discovery of him and Sansa’s relationship isn’t at all what worries him._

_Jaime feels distant, as if he is somewhere else, racing down the corridors. It is the sound of a shattering scream that makes his heart clench and he speeds up, running into the throne room._

_That’s when he sees her: lying on the floor, her red hair splayed out as her hands grasp at the crossbow bolt protruding from her chest as she writhes slowly. Jaime hears nothing but a distant buzz as he scoops her up in his arms. She flicks her eyes across weakly to look at him, blue meeting green although she blurs and he realises he’s crying, tears stabbing hot again his cool skin. Her hands shift to brush his cheek, so much stronger than the ghost of a gone girl that was only alive here in his arms. Her hand lingers until her eyes flutter and shut and her hand falls as he starts to shake. No sound comes from his mouth as if pain has filled his lungs. The kiss he presses to her lips is soft and they are still warm and it reminds him painfully of all the others._

_Gently her body is lowered to the floor and with hands still covered in blood, he takes not a moment to walk over the boy King and stab him with the sword by his side._

It was too late to atone for his sins, too late to make them count but what was there left to do? He wakes at the first cringe of morning and his heart has already sinned.

He is the Kingslayer forever on the surface no matter what has changed beneath.

_\---------------_

She was the only one to understand who he truly was, as he realises perhaps that he was the only one to ever truly know her.

And he wants to curl up and cry that she is gone, but feeling that he has failed her, he sits waiting in the throne room beside her, long after everyone has left to seek sanctuary from the Stark army. Jaime just sits, waiting. Laying his heart down with the rest at her feet and his fingers curl in an effort to suppress the emotion that is no longer visible – he has grown too used to hiding tears and pain, ever since he was a child.

When the Stark boy arrives, he will welcome death, with honour and strength and will not resist.

Just like her.


End file.
